


Who The Hell Is Chelsea

by mallesfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky is a Tottenham fan, Cats, F/M, Football | Soccer, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve loves his cat too, and he loves his cat, his cat loves one direction, knee kissing, like knee kissing not actual kissing a knee, the cat steals, your cat is actually my cat au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallesfics/pseuds/mallesfics
Summary: So, he excuses himself and runs to the bathroom to call Natasha on advice. Because, how do you get the guy on your couch who actually lives down the hall and you share a cat with him now to stay for a little while longer, and subtly make a move on him without it getting too awkward and weird between them because he couldn’t just move if things got too awkward or weird?Or, In which Bucky's cat lives a double life and Steve thinks his cat is his cat but it’s actually Bucky's cat all along.





	Who The Hell Is Chelsea

**Author's Note:**

> My danish teacher told me to write and read more so i went ahead and completely ignored her and wrote a fic in one of my other target languages instead.  
> That also saying this is is my first fic and I wouldn't call myself a good writer (hardly even a writer) but it's something i really want to be good at so I'm here writing.  
> I was my own beta and english isn't my first language, so all mistakes are my own. You are welcome to point them out so I correct them  
> (If you have watched the episode of New Girl with Winston and his cat where his cat is also Sweatshirt, then i can confirm that yes this is inspired by that)

Never in a million years had Bucky thought he was going to get a cat, he wasn’t even a cat person, but when Natasha, from down the halls, cat had gotten pregnant and she suddenly had a litter of kittens, Bucky had to go see them. And yes, he might have had fallen in love with the small female kittens, but he really couldn’t help it when he stepped inside their cage and the smallest of the litter had untied his shoe. Bucky had looked down at the thing touching his shoe and was met by big brown orange eyes on a small grey kitten. But it had been three years now, and he had to admit, that adopting the small Chartreux kitten was probably one of his, if not the only, best ideas.

Now Mishka, after he had adapted his whole life routine, was his good pal. His best pal. He had given her a Russian name, of course, in honor of the his Russian friend who’d trusted him enough to adopt one of her kitten, knowingly that Bucky was not the most responsible adult and that it was very likely he had locked himself out of his flat at least four times this week. And Mishka had had a habit of running back to Natasha’s apartment every so often, to hang out with her mother or Natasha maybe? Honestly Bucky had no idea what Mishka got up to when he was at work or sleeping. Especially now since Natasha moved months ago, and really Mishaka might have long legs, but not long enough to run 20 miles north through Brooklyn and get back, but she still disappeared multiple hours a day on multiple occasions.

-

Every morning he’d wake up and Mishka would be sleeping outside his door. He didn’t let her sleep in his bed anymore. When she was smaller she would scratch Bucky’s arms in his sleep and he would wake up to swollen scratches on his arms. Embarrassingly enough it had taken him weeks to figure out it was Mishka’s doing. She didn’t even seem to mind much when Bucky started closing the door when he went to bed. He’d go about his day, go to work, the gym come home and Mishka would greet him by the door. She’d cuddle him on the couch and to Bucky’s delight she would also scare away the big spiders. So, yes, Mishka was pretty much perfect - apart from her problem of stealing Bucky’s thing and put them random places all over the apartment. The worst was when she hid food. He had learned early on not to leave food out when Mishaka was in the room, because as soon as she figured out how to jump on the table, she’d take whatever was on his plate. Not even to eat, just to run away with it and hide it in Bucky’s shoe for a later surprise when he’d stick his foot right into a day old quarter sandwich.

But yeah, apart from that, Mishka was pretty much perfect. And Bucky didn’t think it was possible to love anything that much. But Mishka had scratched and snuggled her way into Bucky’s heart. Now his best buddy was a cat. He’d talk to her, he had convinced himself that all sane people talked to their pets, and Bucky wasn’t even embarrassed to admit he’d eat his breakfast on the floor beside her.

-

And honestly, Bucky was proud of himself, he had taken good care of her and himself. It was working well and he felt good. He felt responsible and mature. Everything had been so great. But then, Mishka started gaining weight, more than she should. And she wouldn’t even eat her dinner. For once, while Bucky and Mishka had lived together something was up. Something had gone wrong.

Bucky, being the good house mom he is, started to freak out. Natasha wasn’t here anymore. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to know what was wrong? Was she pregnant? Had his _child_ gone and gotten knocked up by some other cat he didn’t even _know_ about? Not that kittens would be bad. He was just really busy at the moment. How did he even take care of kittens? Maybe she was she sick? Was she just getting fat? So he called the vet almost crying about his cat. After a small trip to the vet and about 7 hours of waiting only to be told that, “Sir, your cat is fine,” and “Most likely she just eats when she’s outside.” - and a bit of, “No she’s not pregnant,” “Sir, are you okay? Are you crying?”, “Yes, trust me Sir, I know what I’m talking about, she’s alright.” Crying in the vet's office over his cat, who was fine, was not how he wanted his day to go, or had planned for it to go.

So, he started to feed her less, which seemed to work. Things were okay again. His cat wasn’t fat, or complaining about not getting food, and she was still stealing stuff. Now more important things. Just yesterday his favourite cap had gone missing, and now today he had found a reminder in his mailbox for a bill he had never open, because Mishka had recently found out that if she jumped to the couch first she could get to the shelf where Bucky kept his mail. Mail was awfully exciting.

-

On Mishka’s second birthday Bucky had woken up and was greeted by a Mishka sitting, oh, so, quietly on the couch with a piece of grey fabric curled together laying in front of her. He sat down beside her and took the fabric into his lap and stroking her fur behind her ears. This always made her purr and move her head into Bucky’s hand.

“What’s this, huh, Mishka?” he unfolded the fabric in his lap revealing a white T-shirt. He held it up and flipped it around, catching a glimpse of white letters in the neck. “Property of S. G. Rogers,” He said to Mishka, stroking her again, “Have you been stealing from this Mr. Rogers?”

Bucky got up to put the T-shirt with the other things Mishka had started to come back with. She had gone from stealing his stuff to bring stuff back to the apartment. Not dead birds, though, other dead animals had made it back to the apartment on rare occasions, or leaves like every other normal cat but solid things people use. Socks, headphones, spoons and now a T-shirt. He couldn’t exactly throw them out because these things actually belonged to somebody. Just in case he was ever going to find out who owned the things, he kept them. Maybe this Mr. Rogers lived close. Maybe he was an old angry man or maybe he was a hot neighbor Bucky just hasn't met yet. Just in case, he was in fact a hot neighbor that would magically show up at his door, he wasn’t going to take any chances. You know. Just. In. Case.

But Mishka didn’t stop bringing back stuff, and she was apparently getting extra fond of this Mr. Rogers guy, because suddenly Bucky had his own stock of Mr. Rogers things; three T-shirts, two mismatched socks and his library card? Who even went to the library anymore? It was kind of endearing that this guy still went to the library, or used to since Bucky had his card now, but seriously, who still uses the library? Bucky wasn’t even close to finding out who this guy was, because 1) They were all addressed to either S. G. Rogers or just S. Rogers. This was no help, since, according to google, thousands of S. G. Rogers lived in America. 2) He had no idea where his cat went when it was gone several hours a day.

But this didn’t stop Bucky from thinking about Mr. Rogers and imagining who this Mr. Rogers was. Slowly Mishka would drag more things back to their flat and Bucky would learn more. Obviously this guy liked books and white T-shirts. But he also had an exceptionally amount of pencils. One day Mishka even brought back a drawing that was signed ‘S. R.’ and Bucky almost threw himself out of the window. Did this guy never use his first name? Did his parents name him something weird he absolutely hated like Samagotchi or Salulahla? Though, named Samagotchi or not Bucky couldn’t help but have a tiny, _tiny_ , little crush on this Mr. Rogers, or atleast what Bucky imagined he was like or looked like. Or how soft his hair probably was. Or how big his hands were. Or how good he looked in those stretched out T-shirts.

-

The whole thing kind of escalated for Bucky when Mishka left and didn’t come home for three days. Bucky was losing it. His cat was missing for god’s sake! Where was he even supposed to go look for her? Mishka always left the flat but she had never gone this long without not coming back. She never stayed out during night time. And yes, Bucky was freaking out. He had left cat food outside his door and attracted five other cats. He had even played Mishka’s favourite song on repeat for hours. Yes, She had a favourite song and it was ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ by One Direction. She would always bop her head along. She also liked ‘18’ and ‘What a feeling’. His friends had looked at him like he was crazy when he had told them. Bucky had showed them a few days later, and to be honest, they were impressed. Mishka really did love her One Direction.

But Bucky didn’t see Mishka for three days until she finally came back.

Bucky had been down getting his mail. He hadn’t left his apartment all weekend in case Mishka would come back. He had been holled up on the floor in his living room wrapped in his duvet watching Garfield, Puss in Boots and Aristocats. Sitting in the couch didn’t feel right without Mishka. Which was crazy because he had sat in it a thousand times without her, but now that she didn’t have the chance to get up beside him, it suddenly felt wrong. So he had opted for the floor.

But he really needed to get his mail, and if he was still in the building it probably wasn’t so bad. And sure enough just as he was getting his mail he heard a small, _Miav_ , behind him. Mishka wasn’t a very vocal cat, but he would recognize that _miav_ everywhere. He turned around and, as he expected, his cat was sitting right there on the staircase. He threw the mail and left his mailbox open as he almost ran over to Mishka and picked her up in his arms and started kissing her head, lifting her up in stretched arms, tears rolling down his cheeks. He was never letting go of her ever again. The apartment had been way too empty without her, and honestly, Bucky was kind of lonely already. Not to mention, he had been worried sick every moment. He had been an hour away from printing 400 ‘Lost Cat’ flyers and blasting One Direction while driving around in the neighbourhood. He didn’t even own a car. But it didn’t matter now. She was here. In his arms. Licking his bicep, as she usually did. God dammit, he loved that cat so much.

He had been laying there in his own world, ten feet from his open mailbox and mail scattered all over the floor when someone approached from behind him on the way down.

“Excuse me” Bucky didn’t even noticed he was splayed across the stairs blocking from anyone who wanted up or down.

“Oh. Sorry!” He had almost rolled down the last few steps trying to get up so the man could get past him.

“It’s alright,” He looked Bucky up and down, his eyes locked up the cat, “That your cat, man?”

“Uh, yes.” No, Bucky just liked to kiss and cuddle random strangers cats on random staircases while crying. Of course it was _his_ cat.

“I swear, I saw that cat at Steve place yesterday.” Steve? Who the hell was Steve and why was he stealing his cat?

“Steve?”

“You know, Steve,” the man walked over to the mailboxes, not even eyeing all of the mail laying on the floor but still carefully avoiding stepping on any of it. He pointed at one of them, “Steve Rogers. He lives here.”

Bucky walked over to look at the mailbox. Mishka miaved like she knew it. S. G. Rogers.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

That meant that Mr. Rogers- Steve, lived in the building. Steve was his neighbor. Steve was actually his neighbor. Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe Bucky’s insane fantasies had hope. Then, it hit him. Oh, my god, he had been stealing from his neighbor. Or his cat had. But still. It was dumb that Bucky hadn’t even thought about looking at the mail boxing down in the lobby. The thought that Mishka was stealing from someone in his apartment complex hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Oh,” the man was already halfway out the door when Bucky finally answered, “Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m Sam, say hi to Steve from me if you see him, alright” And with that the man, Sam, was gone. Bucky was freaking out. He was passing around his living room walking in circles biting his nails. Mishka had placed herself on the dining table. Sitting by the edge watching her human go off the deep end. Her head was slightly tilted to the side. “Oh, my god.” he walked over to Mishka and raised a finger at her, “This is your fault.” He walked a few more circles, “oh, my god”

-

Later, Bucky had finally gotten himself together, and packed whatever Mishka had brought back to their flat into a neat pile. He did not let Mishka come. Honestly, he didn’t know if he was ever going to let her outside again if she ran again like that. And when she kept stealing. His cat was literally stealing. He, now, found himself in front of a door with a Big 3E on it. Where this so called ‘Steve’ should live. This was just down the hall from Bucky’s apartment. Natasha’s old place. How had he never met Steve before. He stepped forward and knocked.

Bucky was about to make a run for it when the door swung up. He was met by a handsome, gorgeous man, who was wearing a tight white T-shirt, matching the ones in his arms and Bucky was so close to set himself on fire right there. So, yes, Bucky’s hot neighbor fantasies was definitely living.

“Are you Mr. R- Steve- Are you Steve?” Bucky mentalled slapped himself, because, what the fuck; Mr. Rogers. Who says that? They were the same age.

“Yes, that’s me.” Steve stuck his head out of the door as if he was looking for someone.

“I have, I found-,” he couldn’t exactly say his cat had been stealing from him. He didn’t even know how Mishka had gotten into his apartment. Was there a cat flap here still? Did Steve know Mishka had been inside his apartment, “I _found_ some of your stuff.”

“Thanks. Uh,” Steve said. Bucky didn’t even realise he was still holding all of his stuff. He reacted too fast and tried to slow his own motions making a weird action of giving Steve his things. Steve’s face lit up when he saw his things and grabbed them, looking through them, “ Great, I have been looking for these.”

“Um,” What was he supposed to do now? Just stand there, should he leave or should he introduce himself. Was Steve not even going to ask how a complete stranger got a hold of a so many of his things. “I’m James. Call me Bucky.” He stretched his hand out for Steve to take it. God, he actually had big hands. Why did cute guys always make him nervous?

“Bucky?” Steve questioned.

“Middle name’s Buchanan.”

“James Buchanan, like the President?”

“Yeah.” Steve laughed. Hardly anyone knew that president, but the ones who did, knew he sucked. “So, I should probably get going.”

“Okay,” Steve was still smiling, “Thanks, for the stuff.”

“It’s no problem.” Bucky was slowly walking backwards. “See you around, Bucky” Steve waved, waiting for Bucky to be out of eyesight before he closed the door. “See you.” As soon as Bucky heard the door slam, he ran back to his own place, hurrying inside and standing up against the door. Deep breaths. Seeing Steve in person did not help on his tiny tiny little crush. Bucky, now, had to walk around knowing that just down the hall the most gorgeous man he had ever lived. How was he supposed to now think about that all the time. He looked down at Mishka by his feet, pointing. “This is still all your fault.”

-

Bucky was having the worst day of his life. He had woken up too late, smashed his phone when he stepped on it getting out of bed. He had accidently drank too old milk, ruining both his coffee and oatmeal, leaving no more time to make something new. His third pair of headphones had gone missing this month. And his name tag, for work, was suddenly gone as well. Figuring out it was Mishka always taking his things was no brainer, but figuring out where she hid them was certainly tough. Over the years she had grown smarter with both her hiding places, and what she took. 10 hours later he was back home, after waiting 1,5 hours on his food down by the deli, that they had ‘forgotten’. But really Bucky knew the owner hated him after he refused to take his daughter on a second date. He had meant to stop coming after the last incident, where the exact same thing had happened. But this was just on his way home, and he wasn’t going to walk a longer way home, in rain, when these shoes cost more than his whole outfit together.

And right now Mishka was standing in the doorway walking in circles around him, blocking his entrance. She had it with doing this, whenever ever he ordered from the deli. Like she knew he wasn’t supposed to order from that place anymore, and she was punishing him. Usually he could just scoot her away but it was hard when he was balancing the food on top of a package that was delivered to him down by his mailbox. The post office had it with just laying things down there, instead of actually delivering them to their door. The box and food was blocking his eye view, he was balancing boxes and trying not to step on his cat that just wouldn’t stop moving around. He was way too distracted to notice someone coming up behind him.

“Hey, Bucky. Is she bothering you? Come her, Chelsea.” The voice behind him said. He was too busy multitasking he almost didn’t hear _it. Chelsea_. Who the fuck, was calling his cat Chelsea. She didn’t even look like a Chelsea.

“Chelsea?” Bucky turned around. Who the hell is Chelsea? His cat? He’s got to see which dumb fuck was trying to steal his cat. Who thought they could just - but oh. Steve.

Oh.

Of fucking course the universe has to screw up Steve Rogers as well.

“This is Chelsea. My cat. I don’t like saying I own her, but she lives with me.” Steve said, and Bucky had to concentrate hard to ignore whatever nonsense Steve was saying because. What the fuck. This was _his_ cat. Not Steve's. He was watching Steve crouch down, stroking Chelsea. His cat. Steve was stroking Mishka. Was he getting pranked? He couldn’t help looking around for cameras. Seriously, What the fuck.

“What?” Bucky dropped his things. So much for not dropping it. But she couldn’t focus on that right now, “No, what? This is _my_ cat.” Steve looked just as confused as Bucky imagined his own expression should be.

“What are you talking about?” Steve straightened up. He was taller than Bucky. Not much, but it still made him feel small, “ _This_ is _my_ cat.”

“ _This_ _is_ _my_ cat,” Bucky lowered his body and picked up Mishka and walked to his door and kicked in his box and food, “And stop calling her Chelsea. Her name is Mishka.” He said and closed the door right in front of Steve Rogers.

About 30 seconds passed, seconds Bucky had spend pressed against the door- a scene way to familiar the the ending to his last encounter with Steve Rogers. But 30 seconds passed and he felt and heard a knock on the door. It had to be Steve.

“What?” He wasn’t giving up his cat. No matter how gorgeous Steve was.

“Are you joking?” Steve yelled back, “You can’t just take my cat!”

“It’s my cat!” Because, really, it was _his_ cat.

“I’ve had her for almost two years!”

“I’ve had her for three!” There was silence. _Ha!,_ Bucky thought, _I’ve won._

“Well, fuck.” Bucky could barely hear Steve say it. He sounded sad, but honestly Bucky couldn’t seem to care right now. Too much had happened today for him to even process it. Bucky waited exactly 300 seconds, not that he was counting or anything, before he opened the door to see if Steve was still there. He was met by an empty hallway, and Bucky felt a pinch of sadness for Steve Rogers.

-

“You’re killing him with the cat thing.” Sam said to Bucky next morning. Bucky had hid in his bedroom all night, incase Steve was going to come back and knock on the door. It didn’t really make sense to hid in his room, when he could’ve just as well hid in the living room. Steve wouldn’t come in his house. He couldn’t come into his house. But Bucky had felt better hiding in his bedroom from life and his fears that made no sense, listening to Mishka cry all night, trying to pretend it wasn’t because she missed her apparent other human.

“What cat thing? It is my cat.”

“At least let him say goodbye,” Sam closed his mailbox and turned to face Bucky, “You know, he would never steal someone else's cat. It just kept coming to visit during the day when he was at home working.”

And Bucky suppose it made sense that Mishka would go to Steve Rogers flat of all flats. It was where Natasha had used to live and Mishka had spend a large amount of time there. She had been born in that apartment. He got that Mishka would rather spend time with another human she liked while Bucky was at work. And since Steve apparently worked from home. Mishka was a smart cat.

“I’ll think about it.” And with that Bucky went up the stairs. He wasn’t lying. He would think about it. Mishka was a good cat and he would certainly miss her. She was also his best friend or what ever. Maybe Steve had other friends than Sam. If he didn’t he was alone like Bucky was without Mishka.

While opening the door to his apartment he wondered if that was why Mishka had been getting fat. Steve Rogers had been feeding Mishka as well. Maybe this Steve Rogers was a good egg after all. Maybe, maybe, he could hang out a bit with Mishka after all. They could be separated parents or something. Steve and Mishka could have a play date once a week, and he had every second weekend.

-

He went inside to put down his mail and pick up mishka from her usual spot on the couch. No matter how many times Bucky had scolded her when she was little for laying on the couch she never stopped doing it. Bucky had given up last year when she started to just stare up at him when he put her down when he would sit to watch a football game. Soccer football. He never got the americankind. The years he had spend in Europe had gotten him into soccer.

But Mishka would just sit and stare up at him. Make no noises. She was too adorably for her own good, and he knew that it wasn’t the right thing to do. But dammit, she was cute with her big orange brown eyes. He didn't leave time for himself to sit down and gather his thoughts. He knew that if he did, just that, he would change his mind. Gathering himself and Mishka up in his arms, he dragged himself out of the door down the hall till he found himself in front of 3E. Steve Rogers.

He knocked and he waited. Mishka clearly knew the place and was trying hard to wriggle herself out of Bucky's grip. Bucky was about to shush her when the door swung open. “Bucky?” Steve’s voice was high pitched and surprised, like he had never expected to see Bucky again. Which made sense, Bucky thought, he had ran away with what Steve thought was his cat, “You need to let me explain.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He had hardly even heard what Steve was saying. If he was being honest, he had just been standing and staring at Steve with a frightened look on his face, like he had been expecting Steve to hit him.

“Bucky, look-” Steve tried.

“No, I-” Bucky interrupted and stopped himself again. He should’ve prepared what he was going to say. Was he supposed to apologize? He had technically stolen Steve’s cat.

“What?-”

“I suppose,” Bucky stopped himself again. Why was he this nervous? “ I guess, we can share the cat.” He held his breath. What if Steve was really going to hit him? Or even worse; yell at him. Bucky hated getting yelled at. What if this Steve Rogers was going to hit him and then yell at him for stealing Chelsea. He looked Steve an. He was build like a brick wall, he could definitely beat Bucky up. Then it hit him. Chelsea. He shivered just by the thought.

“Buck-”

“Only!” He interrupted Steve again, trying to ignore that it was the third time in a row he had interrupted him.

“Only?” Steve whispered back.

“Only, if you call her real name. Mishka-”

“Chelsea!” This time it was Steve interrupting Bucky. Steve was grinning at his own joke. This son of bitch, Bucky thought, had the nerve to do that. If only Bucky was taller, and stronger, and maybe more handsome, he could definitely beat him up. Or kiss him. He couldn’t figure it out yet.

“Steve!”

“I’m kidding,” Steve was laughing at Bucky’s expression on his face, raising his hands to show he was being civil. Bucky looked almost offended, “I’m kidding.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do now. He was just kind of standing in the hallway looking at Steve, who was still grinning. Just looking at him. Steve, though, was looking down at his chest. Bucky was about to blush at the fact that, maybe, Steve Rogers was checking him out. But no, Steve was looking at what Bucky had almost forgot he was holding, the whole reason for this encounter in the first place; Mishka. Bucky acted before he thought and showed Mishka into Steve’s chest.

“Hey Mishka.” Steve murmured, scratching her between her ears. Bucky cursed to himself. Steve knew her favourite spot. “ I’ve got to give it to you. Mishka suits her better. How’d you come up with it?” Bucky was nodding a long, because yes, yes it did. “The girl who lived in this apartment before was russian. She gave me the cat.”

“Oh”

“We weren’t dating,” Bucky blurted out, “I don’t know why I… said that.” Not better, Barnes.

“Hmm..” The stupid grin of Steve’s was back.

“Why Chelsea anyway? Are you a big Chelsea fan or something?” Bucky was almost hoping he would say no. He just couldn’t crush on someone who liked Chelsea. He’d almost rather want to call her _Arsenal_. Almost.

Clearly, Steve didn’t know who Chelsea was. Or anything about soccer at all, because the only answer he got was

“Who?”

“You know, football.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone called Chelsea in the NFL.”

“No, like, soccer football?” Bucky touched his forehead. He regret he had gotten himself into this conversation.

“Huh?” Steve looked up from scratching the ball of fur in his arms. “You like it? Soccer?”

“I like soccer.” He didn’t know why those words sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. He did like soccer, he watched it all the time.

“Yeah?” Steve was looking down at Mishka again. They both looked so utterly adorable. Bucky honestly, just, couldn’t.

“Yeah. Okay. eh. I’m gonna go.” Bucky didn’t even say allow Steve to answer, before he had kissed mishka on the top of her head and rushed down the hall. He needed to catch a breath. They didn’t even get to talk about how they were going to handle this whole shared cat thing.

-

There’s a knock on the door exactly two hours and 17 minutes after Bucky had made it back to his house. Two hours and 17 minutes he spend laying on the couch with his arm over his head blocking the sunlight. Getting up and pulling the curtains to one side and block the sun seemed like too much moving when he had gotten back. Even moving his body a few inches so the sun wouldn’t shine exactly in his face. But now, he had taken too long to open the door and someone knocked again and said his name. It was Steve. Of course it was Steve.

Bucky got up to open the door. He couldn’t exactly pretend he wasn’t here, Steve had seen him enter. Opening the door he didn’t even get to speak before Steve was showing Mishka into his arms, holding an open laptop in his other hand.

“So get this, after you leave I go and turn on the tv and they are talking about this Chelsea team and this other team, and they show this goal by Harry Kane, you know him?” Steve looks up from the laptop he was scrolling around on to see Bucky nodding.

“He plays for Tottenham.” Bucky doesn’t really know what’s happening, but his football knowledge is usually right no matter how confused he is by the the cute guy in front of him, who also happens to be his neighbor and his cat’s bonus dad.

“So I look him up and I’ve been watching Harry Kane best goals the last 2 hours.” Steve says, now showing the laptop into Bucky’s arms as well. The video is playing when he gets it to sit right for him to actually being able to see the screen. It’s Harry Kane in his Tottenham Jersey running across the pitch. He can hear the faint music, the owner of the youtube channel must’ve edited over. It’s an annoying electro beat, Bucky understands why Steve had turned the music down. Kane runs with the ball, Bucky can see Eriksen, another Tottenham player, running in the bottom of the screen, but Kane takes the shot himself. It’s good goal. One of Bucky’s favorite goals.

“He’s a good striker.” He looks up over the screen at Steve. He’s nodding.

“Yea, why isn’t this more well known?” Steve asks

“It’s pretty well known in Europe, Steve.”

“But, I mean, here?”

“I don’t know. People just prefer Football.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love football. But this, “ Steve says, pointing at the laptop Bucky is still holding. “This is great too”

Bucky laughs, because yes, it is. But this is also not how Bucky had thought the day was going to go. How this whole thing was going to go. Steve in front of him, talking about his new found love of soccer.

“Have you ever heard of Premier League?” Bucky asks, knowing Steve’s answer already.

“Never”

“You can come over and watch the next game if you want?” Both Steve and Bucky were surprised by Bucky’s offer. “I mean, I always record the games since it’s shit early in the morning ‘cus it’s Europe and watch them at night”

“Really? That’d be great!” Some part of Bucky was hoping that Steve was going to say no but at the same time he was so fucking happy Steve had agreed. He told himself it was because he need to know his cats other dad, and not because his crush on Steve about 27 times bigger since he had showed his laptop into his arms. Steve had actual showed interest in something Bucky had talked about. And soccer. None of the few friends Bucky he had liked soccer. Sure, they would let him ramble and get excited when his team won, but they would never know who Harry Kane was. Or Christian Eriksen. Or Danny Rose. Any of them.

“Tottenham? They are playing on Sunday, come by like 7 ish? I’ll have some for us” Food? Wanted to hit his head against the wall. _Food_?

“Great. Thanks! It’s a date” Steve said. And Bucky didn’t even know he was walking about because Steve had just said the word date and it was all he could think about, but he was still standing with both Mishka in his chest and the left arm balancing Steve’s open laptop.

“Steve” He called. He didn’t need to raise his voice, for the man was still only about 10 feet away from him and turned as soon as Bucky had said his name. There was a frightened look on his face like he was sacred he had done something wrong. The same look Bucky had had on his face earlier.

“Your laptop.” Was all he said to Steve, nodding his towards it. Steve scrambled over to Bucky, making an almost impossible amount of noise in that short distance.

“Oh, yeah, sorry” He said, taking it out of Bucky’s hands and scratched Mishka on top of her head. RIght between her ears. Honestly, Bucky was scared Mishka liked Steve better.

“I’ll see you later Mishka” Steve said to the cat. It was weird Bucky thought, it was like having a grown man talking to his chest. Steve shot up like he had forgotten something and pointed at Bucky while he was slowly walking backwards, “And you! I’ll see you later as well!”

Processing what had just happened, took Bucky an embarrassing long time where he just stood in the hallway. Everything seemed hard to process with Steve. But it was _nice_. Steve Rogers _nice_ Bucky decided. More than just _nice_ in fact.

-

The next day Natasha came on one of her rare visits. They weren’t even rare, they saw each other at least 4 four times a month, but that’s what Natasha liked to call them, and Bucky had learned it the hard way not to try and argue or correct Natasha. When she had made up her mind, there were no getting her to change it.

Having her over was always nice, it was rare that Bucky ever had company, but having Natasha over felt nice, They had used to hang out a lot when she had lived down the hall, but she had also lived down the hall so it wasn’t really the same having her, as in she could go to her flat and back twice in 30 seconds.

Mishka still loves Natasha like her own mother. This, made Bucky feel at unease, because, yes, Mishka always loving Natasha more than Bucky was one thing, but now Mishka also, from what it looked like loved Steve more than Bucky.

It was almost like a routine. Natasha would notice Bucky was being weird about it. He would pretend he was jealous. Natasha would pretend she didn’t know Bucky was pretending and Bucky would pretend he didn’t know natasha was pretending he wasn’t pretending. Then Bucky would end up acting even more weird and Natasha would say something encouraging that always made Bucky feel better, even if it was just, “She loves you the most, you know that” or something dumb like “Shut up Barnes, stop being a bitch about it. She loves you” It never failed. And Buck would smile and Natasha would hug him and Mishka would scratch her leg, because she’d act like a dog when anyone hugged her human.

Sometimes Natasha would bring her cat, Mishka’s mother, and Bucky would sit back and watch Mishka try and get into contact with her mother while she would ignore Mishka. He’d half heartedly feel bad for her, but then he’d remember all the time she stolen things from him or eaten his food, or that one time she’d gone up on the roof and Bucky couldn’t get her down and he’d almost had a heart attack right there on the fire escape.

Today, it was just Natasha. Sitting right in front of him at the dining table Bucky had bought many years ago but hardly ever used. He never ate there when he was alone, and he was alone most of the time. Mishka didn’t count. Especially when he sometimes at on the floor with her. Bucky was easy to read and get secrets out of, especially to Natasha, but things like eating on the floor with Mishka was one of the fe things he had managed to never spill. Not that he was practically embarrassed about, he just knew, his friends would never let it go. Probably make him eat on the floor when they hung out. Bucky had terrible friends honestly, but still he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

He had cooked dinner for them. He hardly ever cooked, not when he was alone. Again, he was mostly alone. He always though, cooked for Natasha. Maybe he should cook for Steve Bucky thought.

He had hardly touched his food as he had been sitting trying to figure out how Mishka was also Steve’s cat, and how to explain who Steve was. But honestly he just couldn’t get past the Steve part. The part of _Steve_ that was, that he was coming here. Tomorrow.

Bucky had been too lost in his thought to even notice that Natasha had stopped eating and was staring at him. He tried not to look her in the eyes when she stared. She was scary like that. She dropped down the utensils.

“Okay, Barnes, What’s up? You’ve been acting weird all day” And fuck. Now he had to tell her. He couldn’t lie. Not to Natasha.

“Um, so remember when I said Mishka would run away a lot and thought she didn’t love me anymore?” Bucky said as he putted down his fork, trying not to look up at Natasha, “Apparently she has been running to the guy who lives in your old apartment and been living with him for years, and he thought it was his cat.”

“What?”

“And! He had named her Chelsea” He was never getting over this. Chelsea? Really Steve?

“Mishka is so much better”

“I know!” Bucky exclaimed. It really is. There was quiet. Natasha was thinking. Bucky definitely couldn’t eat now.

“Have you spoken to this guy?”

“Yes. We share her now. His name is Steve” _and I might love him_.

“Hmm…” Thinking again. Talking with her like this always felt like she was interrogating him. She would always come with hard questions and- “Is he good looking?”

“What?”

“Is he hot, Barnes?” He opened his mouth to answer that, yes Natasha, he was so gorgeous, he would literally throw himself off the building, but there was knock. On his door. Both Natasha and Bucky looked up in surprise. Bucky had like two friends apart from Natasha.

But behind the door was his third, new friend. Behind the door was Steve Rogers, looking soft in sweatpants holding a bunch of Bucky’s things. Wait, what the fuck?

“Uh, hi Steve” Bucky said and he knew Natasha would appear right behind him as soon as he heard the name Steve come out of his mouth. Steve also noticed Natasha appear behind him.

“Am I interrupting?” Steve said, clearly referring to Natasha. God, Steve probably thought he was on a date.

“No, this is Natasha. Nat, this is Steve” Bucky could see Steve’s inner dialogue as he tried to search for a mention of Natasha in his heard. And his eyes light. Click.

“You lived in my apartment? I would shake your hand but-” Steve said referring to all the stuff in his hands. “Bucky, I believe this is yours” Steve reached out and gave bucky a bunch of his T-Shirts, his headphones among other stuff. He would feel Natasha eyes on him. He looked at her shortly, “Mishka steals” he explained. She didn’t even flinch. Maybe Mishka’s mother stole as well? He turned his attention was back at Steve, who was still looking at Bucky. Bucky, who thought of himself as a laid back guy, a cool guy even, he didn’t get embarrassed easily and flirting hardly made him blush. But right now, under Steve’s gaze, he felt flushed. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, 7!” Steve said, as if he too felt impassioned and wanted meeting to be over “See you, Buck, Bye Mishka. And you, of course, Natasha”

Bucky closed the door. He tried to pretend Natasha just hadn’t heard that. She was definitely going to ask. He didn’t even get to ask her about her traveling plans to Florida next week before it came.

“ _Tomorrow_?” She asked. A sigh left him.

“We are watching football” He answered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“With dinner?”

“Yes”

“So, you’re having a date?” no, no, no. Now it’s going to be in my head all night. _Date_.

“No” It wasn’t a date. Was it? No.

“Are you cooking?”

“I was thinking about it” He mumbled. He knew what was about to happen.

“Bucky!” She hit him. “You have a date!”

“It’s really just football” Rubbing his arm after Natasha hit him never helped, but he always did it. She was freakishly strong. “And you don’t have to hit me every time something exciting happens.”

“Okay” Her tone said everything.

“It’s not a date”

“Okay.”

“It’s not!”

“I didn’t say anything” Natasha said and turned on her heel to go back to the dining table, leaving Bucky dumbfounded. He could practically feel her smirk. It really wasn’t a date. He usually didn’t watch football with his dates. But then again he hadn’t been on a in years. Being a single dad to a kleptomaniac cat had been enough for a while.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Bucky had hardly slept all night with Natashas words echoing in his head.

Was this a date? Had he asked Steve Rogers on a date without meaning to? No that he would mind. Steve was _lovely_. Steve was _lovely_ all over.

At seven in the morning his eyes shot open. After a few hours sleep, his body simply couldn’t rest anymore. This was even earlier than when he usually got up. And it was Sunday.

He looked at the watch on his phone. 12 Hours, he thought. This was going to be a long day. Bucky, like most people, knew how his body reacted to anxiety or excitement. Maybe both? He couldn’t tell anymore. He patted into the living room barefooted with Mishka by his feet and feel into it and threw his feet on the table turning on the television knowing, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. Or eat. And he really had to pee. This was how his body reacted.

Now almost 12 hours later Bucky had suffered 2 accidents with fire and a dead mouse. He was pacing around the room checking on the food, making sure nothing was going to burn. He had had enough fire today. He wasn’t even dressed yet. Incident after incident had made these 12 hours go faster than expected.

He had been playing with some candles Natasha had given him. They smelled nice, he thought, maybe he should put them out for tonight. Instead he had opted to lit one of them and let it insest his house for a few hours. When he had gone and knocked it over and not even noticed till about 10 minutes later when he started to smelled burned shoe. And sure enough, when he looked behind him, right there in the middle of the floor, a half meter tall flame was standing. Luckily he knew Mishka was gone at this hour, but fuck, he might have screamed. He was having terrible childhood trauma after being convinced for 11 years that fire a fire monster was hiding in his closet, and was going to shoot him with lava. Now here he was, standing in front of his greatest enemy, he somehow got it to die down and somehow managed to start another fire within minutes.

This wasn’t his day. He had been running around the house, trying to clean, but not make it too obvious he had been cleaning, but still giving the expression that he was clean person. And he was. Sometimes.

He had stopped at the kitchen table to stir the food, when Mishka had come back. What he hadn't seen was what she was carrying.

This time he definitely screamed when Mishka hopped onto the kitchen counter and layed a dead mouse in front of Bucky and looke dup her like she was offering him some kind of gift. She had almost looked offended when Bucky screamed and jumped back.

The mice always got to him.

It wasn’t rare that Mishka would bring back stuff like dead mice and offer them to Bucky. Each time it was just as disgusting as the last time. And he never had any idea what to do with it. Throw it in the disposal chutes? A part of him always wanted to bury and give it a proper funeral. He had once told this to Natasha. She had taken his hand and looked him softly and said it wasn’t his mouse and he didn’t even have a garden to bury it in. Besides, Mice didn't even have funerals in the first place.

Still he felt bad. His cat was both a theft of things and the lives of mice.

And then. A knock. Three knocks to be exact. Bucky froze. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Was it really seven already? And the screen confirmed. 7:03 it said. Fuck, he thought.

He looked down at his clothes. A grey soft sweater and sweatpants. He was only wearing one sock for god’s sake. The other had gotten wet after stepping in water some of the water he had used to turn off the fire. He never got around to put on a new sock. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He looked down at the phone again. It had changed to 7:04. Someone knocked again. “Bucky? Are you okay?”

Steve. Bucky looked down at himself again. He looked like a madman standing in the kitchen body frozen but arms working from side to side like he didn't know to go left or right. He made and snap decision and ran over to the door and almost slipped on some more water.

_Mental note: clean it up._

He threw the dishwater he was still holding into the sofa and grabbed the door knock. 

Bucky, calm down. It’s not even a date.

He opened the door and there on the other side Steve Rogers was standing with a worried look on his face.

“Steve, hi!” He opened the door wide open and watched Steve step inside. Steve looked amazing. Dark jeans. Dark purple button up. Hair was flat down on his head. He looked really good, Bucky was 100% staring, and he looked down at himself.

“Are you okay? Thought heard you scream earlier. Is that a burned shoe?” Steve asked, the same stupid smirk playing on his lips. He looked at the shoe in front of Steve. _Another mental note: Remove burned shoe._

“I’m sorry I’m not dressed nicer. As you can see; It’s been a hectic evening” He said, taking the dish towel from the sofa and threw it on the floor, using his bare foot to dry up the water, hoping Steve wouldn’t notice. Steve was eyeing around the living room. Probably looking for more burned things.

“I don’t mind. You look nice” His snapped back to look at Bucky, eyes wide. “I- I mean-” Bucky grinned to Steve.

“You look nice too” He felt hot all over, like giving Steve a compliment was giving him an adrenaline rush of some kind. He suddenly felt great. Like the last 12 hours hadn’t happened and instead the cute guy from down the hall was on his couch, petting his cat as she tried to climb his lap. _Their cat._

_-_

For someone who had never watched a whole football match before Steve sure was into it. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder how many of those top 10 goals Steve really had watched. Steve almost knew all of Tottenham players name. It was nice having another spurs fan in the building. Bucky might’ve promised to take take Steve to a game here in New York. New York City FC? or the New York Red Bulls? He didn’t even follow soccer in the states. It was impressive; what Steve was doing to him. Bucky had been watching about 40% of the game and 60% of the game (25%-75% really, but who was counting) He just couldn’t seem to tear his eyes of Steve when his back tensed up whenever Eriksen would do a long pass to Dele Alli and suddenly Tottenham was close to a lead. Or the way his arms would flex when Mame Biram Diouf from Stoke City almost scored on lost ball from a corner. Or when Bucky would, with no shame, stare directly at Steve to take in the details. The way the yellow light from behind the couch would compliment Steve skin just right. His sharp jaw. His golden locks falling onto his forehead. But nothing had compared to the way he body flexed when he stretched his arms above his head and a few seconds later his body jerked up when something. Bucky cursed at himself for getting so distracted by the way Steve’s shirt rode up his side when he stretched that he almost missed a goal. The goal was beautiful. Almost gave Steve justice, if you could compare a beautiful man to a soccer goal. But _if_ Steve was a soccer goal, he’d be that goal. Steve reached to look at and patted his back. He was glowing. Probably an even more beautiful goal, Bucky thought.

So, yes, you could say Bucky was completely thoroughly charmed by Steve Rogers from down the hall.

In the 57 minutes it had taken to eat the dinner Bucky had cooked. The dinner he had managed to cook well enough while putting out literal fires in the apartment. Steve had laughed so hard when he was told the fire story that the beer he was drinking came out his nose. It had been disgustingly adorable, Bucky hated himself.

In those 57 minutes Steve had complimented his cooking six times and his apartment three times. He loved the art he has hanging on his wall in the hallway and had gotten distracted in it for when Bucky had asked if he wanted a beer. Bucky liked the painting too, but Steve apparently knew his art and it was fine piece he had on his wall. He’d brought Steve the beer without ever getting an answer and told the story of how his grandmother had stolen it from an ex boyfriend and now 70 years later it was it was in his apartment hallway. 

In those 57 minutes Steve had snitched on Mishka an uncountable amount of times. Because, of course, it had come up, how had Bucky not noticed his cat was gone all the time? Especially when he slept? And the answer came about thirty seconds later when Steve mentioned how he always let Mishka sleep in his bed, because, again, no, this was wrong. Mishka slept outside Bucky’s bedroom door every night. Right? But apparently this so called cat of Bucky’s had apparently been sneaking off to Steve’s apartment ever night for the last 2 years. And Steve let her sleep in his bed, and he didn’t even get any scratches. And she never brought him any dead rodents. Though, Steve had been kind of enough to say that it was gifts from her to Bucky. In Steve’s dumb beautiful mind Mishka liked Bucky better and showed this by bringing him dead animals.

It had been 57 minutes of Bucky figuring out Steve. And Steve was _good_. Steve was _great_. Steve was _amazing_. Steve was an work from home illustrator, that hung out with the random cat that had started to come to his apartment everyday, while he listened music, the good kind of music Bucky thought and drew.

He had spend the whole night cracking jokes and touching Bucky’s arm and one time he swore that Steve had touched his knee. But now, the game was almost over and he didn’t want Steve leave. Not yet. Not when he had worked his way all the way from the left side of the sofa to the right side where Steve was sitting. Their shoulders were almost touching. On rare occasions Steve would move and his shoulder would brush Bucky’s shoulder. He’d feel himself getting warm inside, especially when he could see Steve’s neck getting red. He’d had taken that as a silent victory.

So, he excuses himself and runs to the bathroom to call Natasha on advice. Because, how do you get the guy on your couch who actually lives down the hall and you share a cat with him now to stay for a little while longer, and subtly make a move on him without it getting too awkward and weird between them because he couldn’t just move if things got too awkward or weird? How do you even know if he would like it if you made a move? _Really, Natasha, what do I do?_ And Natasha fucking laughed. He rubbed his shoulder, if she had been here, she would’ve punched him on the shoulder. Or laughed at his face. Both perhaps. _I don’t know Bucky,_ she’d said which made Bucky physically nauseous. He’d almost, almost, punched a wall. There’d been a very long pause, and he’d had to flip to screen to confirm, that yes, they were still talking. _Try and make your knees kiss_ , she’d told him, whatever the fuck that meant, _if he likes it go for it_. Bucky had nodded and hung up only to realise that he was on the phone and she didn't know he had nodded but also no idea what it meant to kiss knees. Was it just pressing his knees to Steve’s knees and then hoping for the best? It seemed way more sensible than what came first to Bucky’s mind and get down and actually kiss his knees. How was he supposed to kiss knees if they were sitting on the couch beside each other? He pulled out his phone and again and pulled up Natasha’s number and texted in all caps _THIS IS A BAD PLAN NAT!!!_ , and then again 15 seconds later, _IM DOING IT_.

The sofa was empty when Bucky came out from the bathroom. He was ready to pull out his own hair, what if Steve had heard his conversation with Natasha and decided to make a run for it. but no. If Bucky had just two inches more into the room he would’ve seen Steve sitting at the dining table with Mishka in front of him, scratching he behind the ears. This could work, Bucky thought, if he sat in front of Steve at the table and scooted down a little he could definitely make their knees kiss.

So, he did. He went of and pulled the chair out in front of Steve and slowly started to slide down his chair to find Steve’s knees while Steve started talking about this restaurant, they just had to visit sometime. Bucky it’s amazing. And maybe, maybe, Bucky had miscalculated how big his dining table was because suddenly he was almost halfway down his chairs, almost laying down in it, head raised so he could still look at Steve while he was talking. But now Steve had stopped talking and was looking at Bucky like h e was crazy. Bucky admitly knew that this must have looked odd. Especially now when their knees weren’t even touch. But then he finally found Steve’s knees under his table, and Steve’s expression changed to an oddly fond look. Of course, this plan was very much, less subtle now that Steve had noticed Bucky being weird. But he had to be positive and , so this was just a big giant hint, that he wanted to kiss Steve. Very big hint. Might’ve well just have said it.

Now he was just and idiot laying in a chair on front of Steve Rogers smiling awkwardly up at him. There was a dumbfounded moment where they were just staring at each other. The table empty now that Mishka had left without Bucky even noticing. Bucky could feel his face reddening. But then Steve Rogers stood up in his chair and reached across the table to grab Bucky’s collar and leaned over the table and pressed his lips against Bucky’s. It was short and chaste and left Bucky with and whine of, more, and Steve obeyed and pressed his lips against Bucky’s again. And it took a few seconds to realise that this is when you kiss back. May even be _expected_ that you kiss back, especially when you asked for it. And kiss with them with your knees. He slid his hands up Steve’s shoulders and one of them went to his hair, and when they finally pulled back, panting and breathless, Steve was practically crawling over the table and Bucky’s neck was starting to hurt from the uncomfortable position. But it didn’t stop him from pulling Steve back in.

-

Mishka didn’t seem to understand at first why both of her humans were with each other more. Why Bucky would sometimes be in Steve’s bed when she came to sleep at night. Or why the door at Bucky’s bedroom suddenly was open. She had spend the first weeks just staring at them whenever they sat on the same couch. But after a couple months she had started to stop scratching their legs when they hugged or even just had an arm around each other. She was confused by it anyway, who was she supposed to protect? Both or her humans were in danger by the other one of her humans? Mostly, she ended up just biting in the hem of Steve’s jeans as an distraction.

What she liked though, was when Bucky and steve would sit with her on the floor and eat in Steve’s apartment. He had a soft carpet the she really liked. She also likes how happy Bucky looked when Steve would scratch Mishka behind her ears and then scratch Bucky behind his ears and kiss his cheek when Bucky would purr.

She really liked the Tottenham soccer jersey Steve had gotten for Mishka. He had intentionally gotten it as a joke to make Bucky laugh, which it did, and Mishka didn’t mind being half the reason for Bucky’s laugh. But when Bucky that night had gone to take it of her, she had refused. It had come to grow on her. It made her feel ekstra warm, which was nice, especially now, in the winter. Later, she’d hear Bucky on the phone with Steve, _she just won’t let me. I think she really likes it,_ she’d hear, _maybe she’s just a big spurs fa_ n. The real question to Mishka was why Bucky was even on the phone with Steve, when he lived just down the hall. But Bucky had never made sense to Mishka. She’d still loved him the most in the world. And Steve. Maybe Natasha too. But those three only.

What she loved though, was just the fact, that now her humans were together. She didn’t have to go to another flat to find her other human. Sometimes they were too close, Mishka thought, like when Bucky would climb Steve’s lap when they were all three watching television. Though, it had it’s downs as well, when they would leave her to go to another room. It happened a lot after situations where Bucky would climb Steve’s lap. But then again- she never really got Bucky. He was still her favorite human. Together with Steve.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it, sorry for the weird ending I couldn't really figure out how to end it.  
> I love to draw and I had actually doodled some art for this fic (which was hard cus i can't draw cats) so if you want it included let me know! or art for future fics (or want me to do art for your fics or just for you)  
> On that note you can find me on twitter with @lilisananus


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